[In the following review, Harrison calls Words Are Stones “a perceptive and ably written book, which confers a deep insight into a storied but tortured part of the Western world.”]

Each morning I ride to work with a friend who, during and after World War II, traveled widely in a number of African and European countries. In discussing these lands we have found only one point of deep disagreement—our respective views of the island of Sicily. To him, having tramped and ridden the parched roads of the island during the Allied advance, having seen the poverty of the villages and the distress of the villagers, Sicily is a region to be avoided, an area without charm or attraction, sad and pitiful.

There is, of course, no denying the validity of this view, for Sicily is one of the most impoverished, neglected and, in many ways, unhappy corners of the Mediterranean world. Yet, to this reviewer, it has long been an island with a particular fascination. Its immense antiquity and turbulent history, its many unique customs, the fiery pride and dignity of its inhabitants, the wonderful clarity of its air, sea, and mountains, all these confer upon it an unusual and powerful individuality.

It is this individuality which created this short volume of reporting and comment by the author of the worldwide postwar best seller Christ Stopped at Eboli, in which Carlo Levi wrote of his life as Mussolini's prisoner among a folk not dissimilar to the Sicilians, the forgotten Lucanians of southern Italy. For the present book is primarily an account of certain major ways in which Sicily differs, not merely from Europe, but from that Italy of which it is so tenuous a part.

Essentially it is a sad book, interwoven with the feeling of tragedy which hangs over the lives of so many Sicilians, a tragedy in which the Mafia flourishes, in which men labor for a pittance in the sulphur mines, in which a seething sense of rebellion bursts forth in the banditry of Salvatore Giuliano, and in which the visit of a former Mayor of New York City assumes almost apocalyptic proportions.

Indeed, it is when describing the visit of Vincent Impelliteri to his natal village of Isnello that Words Are Stones reaches its highest pitch. Present at this occasion, Mr. Levi describes it in terms which, were they not kindly meant, might almost appear blasphemous, for, in his eyes, the citizens of Isnello looked upon “Impy's” success and return as little short of divine, leaving behind a permanent myth in island folk lore.

A perceptive and ably written book, which confers a deep insight into a storied but tortured part of the Western world.